Mr. S. Oh, no; we don't mind showing what we have. Here, Joe, value these. (Mrs. D. and Mr. S. lay their packages on the table and Joe proceeds to examine them.)
Joe. (Chalking the figures on the wall as he names them.) A seal, eight shillings; pencil-case, three and six pence; pair of sleeve-buttons, five and four-pence; scarf-pin, ninepence. Nine and four, thirteen, and six, is nineteen—seven. One and five's six, and thirteen is nine, and eight makes seventeen. That's your account, and I wouldn't give another sixpence if I was to be boiled for it. Who's next?
Mrs. D. I hope you'll be more liberal with me, Mr. Joe. I'm a poor, lone widow, and it's hard for me to make a living.
Joe. I always give too much to the ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's the way I ruin myself. Under-clothing, sheets, towels, sugar-tongs; these tea-spoons are old-fashioned, and the boots won't bear mending. One pound six, that's your account. If you asked me another penny, and made it an open question I'd repent of being liberal, and knock off half a crown.
Mrs. M. Now, undo my bundle, Joe.
Joe. (Opening bundle.) What do you call this? Bed curtains?
Mrs. M. Ah! (Laughing.) Bed curtains.
Joe. You don't mean to say you took 'em down, rings and all, with Old Scrooge lying there?
Mrs. M. Yes I do. Why not?
Joe. You were born to make your fortune, and you'll certainly do it.